Writer Wednesday:Excerpt for Eye of the Storm, Book 4 of the Kelli Storm Series (Kenneth Hoss-Author)

This week I have the pleasure of featuring an except from Eye of the Storm the fourth novel in Kenneth Hoss’s Kelli Storm Series. I have had the privilege of reviewing previous installments of the series and look forward to an author interview with Mr. Hoss next week and an official review of Eye of the Storm in the near future.

Enjoy this taste of the Storm and if you haven’t read the other three books, I will provide a link at this end of this post. While each book stands alone as solid stories, they are even better when read as a whole.  So if you haven’t….get on it!

Author’s Synopsis 

The body of a Russian prostitute is dumped in a Washington Heights park and Detectives Kelli Storm and Eric Ryder are called to the scene. A note found on the woman’s body containing her name and that of a former Russian mobster leads Kelli to an old nemesis.

When they confront a Russian Diplomat and the Russian Brotherhood with little success, they seek the help of an FBI contact who aids them in finding a connection between the Diplomat and a corrupt FSB Agent, and uncover a criminal conspiracy between a dangerous Mexican cartel and a notorious New York crime family.

As Kelli peels away the layers of death and corruption, she soon finds herself targeted by these organizations, all wanting to eliminate the threat to themselves and their livelihoods.

Excerpt

                                   Friday September 27^th – 9:45 A.M. – Elizabeth, New Jersey

                                                 Corbin Street – Maher Terminals Inc.

Kelli flipped through several pages of the manifest, shook her head and looked back at the clerk. “Exactly how many containers were on this ship?”

The little man adjusted his glasses, tapped the keyboard in front of him, studied the screen and looked up at Kelli. “Exactly three thousand four hundred, all containing machine parts. Do you want to know where they are?”

“No, I don’t. What I want to know is, were these containers inspected, and if so, who inspected them?”

“Are you kidding me? Do you know how many containers come through this port every day? Even the Department of Homeland Security admitted that it was impossible to check all of the containers coming in to U.S. ports. Sure, if we feel there’s a reason to inspect a container, it gets inspected, but otherwise, it just goes on to its destination.”

Kelli looked at Greg, shook her head and turned back to the clerk. “So can you tell me if any of these containers are still here?”

He shrugged, looked back at his screen, tapped a few keys and nodded. “It looks like there are three containers from that ship that haven’t been picked up by the carrier yet.”

“And where are these containers?”

“Section B, spaces twelve, thirteen, and fourteen,” he said and looked back up at her.

“Okay, get somebody to take us to them; I’d like to see these machine parts.”

“Sure, you got a warrant, right? Those containers are private property; you can’t just open them up. Besides, your NYPD, this is New Jersey, you don’t have any jurisdiction here.”

Kelli leaned over the desk, her face inches away from the clerk’s face. “True, I may not have jurisdiction, but my friends here do, isn’t that right, Special Agent Gallo?”

“That’s correct, Detective Storm,” he said as he stepped up next to the desk and tossed the warrant down.

“Now, I want you to get on the phone and get someone over here to take us to those containers.”

The clerk nodded as he fumbled for his desk phone. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get someone from security over here. What’s so important about these containers anyway?”

“Maybe nothing, but it’s possible that one or all of them were used to smuggle young women into the country, as in human trafficking, sex slaves,” she said, her eyes focused on his. “Now, make that call.”

“Shit, really? I mean you hear about it, but you never think about it,” he said and hit a button on the phone and waited.

                                                                     ****

The first two containers held exactly what was stated on the manifest, crates of machine parts, bound for Chicago. When they cracked the doors on the third container however, it was all they could do to keep from vomiting. The overpowering stench emanating from the open door was just the beginning. Greg was the first one to regain his composure, and with a hand over his nose and mouth, he entered the container.

“Sick sons of bitches,” he said as he exited moments later. “We’ve got three inside, dead. I didn’t get close enough to check, but my guess is that they died from dehydration. And from the level of decomp, it looks like they’ve been here for a while too.”

Kelli looked up at him, forcing down the bile in her throat. “Those Russian sons of bitches. They kidnap these girls, throw them in this thing and then don’t even give a damn if they live or not,” she said, balling her fist, her face growing hotter. “I want these bastards, Greg; they have to pay for this shit.”

“Calm down, Kelli. They will pay, but let’s get these girls out of there first, okay?” He put his arm around her and eased her away from the container. “Gallo, Graham. One of you want to get forensics down here, and a coroner,” he called over his shoulder.

The Author

Kenneth Hoss was born at Carswell Air Force Base in Fort Worth, Texas in 1957 to Albert and Mary Hoss. He served a combined total of fourteen years on active duty from 1974 to 1987 in both the U.S. Army and U.S. Navy. His tour in the Army took him to Frankfurt, Germany where he had the opportunity totravel Europe. While in the Navy, Kenneth spent most of his time stationed in San Diego and Long Beach. His Navy travels took him to Hawaii, Guam, The Philippines, South Korea, Japan, Hong Kong, Okinawa, the Middle East and Pakistan. He has lived in several States, including South Carolina, Florida, Georgia, Washington and California.

To read any or all of the first three novels go to Mr. Hoss' Amazon Page and watch for the upcoming release of Eye of the Storm on August 16th

Texas Author Storms NY Police Procedurals

If you are reading this introduction, it means that Blogger is still having issues inserting all the nice pictures of the cover and Mr Hoss that I have.  Please click on the links below to see what the cover and Kenneth Hoss look like.

It is always a risk picking up a debut police procedural thriller with a female main character written by a man. Kenneth Hoss' Storm Rising-a Kelli Storm Novel is definitely worth it!

Kelli Storm, is a sharp and capable New York City Detective. Too bad that doesn’t carry-over to her personal life, which is nothing short of a mess. Kelli and her partner Bill investigate a series of drug-related murders tied to a Mexican-Colombian cartel in the Washington Heights section of New York. Kelli knows she is getting close when informants and witnesses turn up dead. Then evidence points to a connection between the events of today and her father’s murder twenty years ago  and things get even more interesting. When the cartel comes after her she figures that’s just part of the job. But when they attack her family and friends, Kelli will test her commitment to proper procedure even as events resurrect hurts, demons and perhaps an old love from her past.   

This terrific novel is tightly paced with well drawn characters and a finely crafted plot.  Mr. Hoss has introduced us to a female detective that is an experienced and somewhat jaded police officer who is at the same time vulnerable.  Mr. Hoss pulls off a fine balance of these qualities so that at no time did I feel like Kelli Storm was a cliché or stereotype.  He even handles the romance (no spoilers here) well. 

I am not an expert on police procedurals so I will only say that it worked for me. I do know that in fiction, including top rated television shows, license with procedure is taken for the sake of moving the plot along.  In real life, toxicology and DNA reports NEVER come back that quickly. I also know that there are patterns of dialogue in this genre and from what I can see Mr. Hoss has captured them.

But I have lived in New York City and grew up in Jersey City and Bayonne, all settings in the novel. So I will offer my opinion on that. I will say that Mr. Hoss gets the flavor of these locations just right. He captures the gritty darkness that surrounds them and all the shadows where the bad guys can hide.

To make this novel perfect, I would only make suggestions around minor editing and formatting.

This is a terrific first novel and one of three in a series. The next Kelli Storm book, Storm Warning is due out in September. While I’m told you don’t have to read this first…. don’t miss seeing where it all began. From what I have heard, Storm Warning will be even better.

I give Storm Rising 4.5 triskeles

Kenneth Hoss was born at Carswell Air Force Base in Fort Worth, Texas in 1957 to Albert and Mary Hoss. He served a combined total of fourteen years on active duty from 1974 to 1987 in both the U.S. Army and U.S. Navy. His tour in the Army took him to Frankfurt, Germany where he had the opportunity to travel Europe. While in the Navy, Kenneth spent most of his time stationed in San Diego and Long Beach. His Navy travels took him to Hawaii, Guam, The Philippines, South Korea, Japan, Hong Kong, Okinawa, the Middle East and Pakistan. He has lived in several States, including South Carolina, Florida, Georgia, Washington and California.

Kenneth currently lives in Irving, Texas.

Storm Rising - A Kelli Storm Novel is a Police Procedural and is the first book in a three book series. Storm Warning, the next book, has a planned release of 9/15/12.

Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cFtpaYIL0yQ&feature=youtu.be

You may purchase Storm Rising at these online retailers:

Amazon:

eBook http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Rising-Kelli-Novel-ebook/dp/B0053GAWYU/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

Paperback http://www.amazon.com/Storm-Rising-Kelli-Novel/dp/1467985430/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

Barnes & Noble:

eBook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-rising-a-kelli-storm-novel-kenneth-hoss/1103391061?ean=2940011314278

Paperback http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/storm-rising-a-kelli-storm-novel-kenneth-hoss/1103391061?ean=9781467985437&format=paperback

Connect with Kenneth:

Blog: http://kenhoss.blogspot.com

Twitter: @kenhoss

Independent Authors Network: http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/kenneth-hoss.html

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKenHoss

UPDATE: What Has REALLY Been Going On! and SALE

THROUGH 7/31, DARK DEALINGS IS ON SALE FOR THE KINDLE AND NOOK FOR $1.49. LET'S PUT UP SOME NUMBERS FOR KICK CANCER OVERBOARD!

Have been MIA for two weeks.  My apologies.  But it has been a crazy time, mostly good. I have been on interviewed on the radio and in the newspaper, scheduled another radio interview, held one major and two minor book signings.  On July 17^th I was interviewed by Bert Baron of WCTC.AM radio 1450 which covers central New Jersey. It was a lot of fun and Bert was terrific.  What was even more exciting was when I found out that my interview followed Bert’s interview with Joe Piscopo, of SNL and other fame.

The following day was my first major book signing courtesy of the Draft House in Long Branch New Jersey. If you have never done or attended a book signing in a pub, you are missing out.  It is fun to have readers and supporters stay and hang out to talk to you and each other.  In the case of this event, I was hosting it as a benefit for Kick Cancer Overboard (KCO), a local charity that sends cancer survivors and their families on cruise to help restore the soul and celebrate life.

During the month of July, I am donating 50% of my royalties from ALL sales, print or eBook, to KCO.  

SO THERE IS STILL TIME TO HELP KICK CANCER OVERBOARD. On the 18^th, I also had a wonderful array of donated gifts and gift baskets to raffle off for KCO. And it was a great success despite the thunderstorms that blew through just as we were getting started.  Some thought that the storms were appropriate for a Dark Dealings event.  Many of those who did not come because of power failures or downed trees have reached out to me since to purchase signed books.

I now have at least two other book signings in the works, not including the local Barnes and Noble that has asked me to get the book warehoused by B&N, so he can have a signing for me.  For the writers among my readers, I publish my print edition through Createspace, a division of Amazon.  As a result, Dark Dealings is listed in the Ingram catalog. But because the initial listing shows it as POD (Print On Demand) the store manager cannot stock it or sponsor a signing.  He pointed me to place on the B&N website where I could find the paperwork to get the book warehoused.  It is a 2-4 month process. I hope to have it ready for Halloween (crosses fingers).  I have also been asked to appear closer to Halloween on another radio program that covers the western New Jersey area.

Then there is the deferred graduation party I am having this coming Saturday for my son.  His godfather is an attorney in California and could not make the actual ceremony because of his trial schedule. So we pushed the party put so he could make it. Will be prepping for 50+ people. Hope it doesn’t rain.

On the less than fun side, I have been running back and forth to doctors with my father. In less than two months he developed an egg sized growth on the outside of his ear.  The biopsy did come back for cancer.  Complicating the removal is that he has emphysema (oxygen tanks and all).  So he needed clearance from four different doctors to even have a combination of local and twilight anesthesia.  But it is localized and external, so we are optimistic.

So I move forward on all fronts. I am trying to catch up on reviews that I have promised. Sitting in doctor waiting rooms gives you more time to read.  I also have asked my good friend and guest blogger, John Bermingham to prepare an overview of the fair use/copyright issues of using Pinterest.

Edits are under way of Ogham Court, a novel that takes a closer look at Nora of the Singing Stone and Devlin of the Salmon Run Inn from Dark Dealings and the unusual events on a cobble-stoned street in the Tribeca section of New York City. Expect this before year end.

I also have an outline ready for a prequel that covers some of the events in Micaela’s life around the time of her parents’ deaths.

Just some things to keep you entertained while I work on the next Micaela book. Who shall be by her side? Liam? Ethan? Maybe Parker?

A time to buckle down and get to work.

Last Bite at the Apple: Chapter 3 Dark Dealings

Dark Dealings, my debut novel, releases officially as an eBook on May23rd.  Today, I give you one last sample chapter to whet your appetite...or your thirst.

Watch here for upcoming details of the launch contest and blog tour!


Links to Chapters 1 and 2 can be found to your right >>>>>>> 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Chapter 3

           

Micaela stared into chocolate brown eyes. Not Reece, Adam. She shook out the cobwebs of the vision. Her fingers were cramped and curled. She had let go of Adam’s hands and wrapped her own hands first around the invisible rifle and then around the orb. Her palms were warm.

“Micaela, are you okay? You were gone a while.” He massaged her palms and knuckles.

“How long?”

“Ten minutes, maybe more,” he said.

Ten precious minutes. Panic squeezed her chest. “Joshua’s Cave. He’s in Joshua’s Cave. He’s hurt bad.”

“That’s over a mile from the trail.”

From the shadow of the trees, Chief Deerfield, Adam and Reece’s grandfather, emerged and spoke to Adam. “Listen to her, Red Hawk. You know what she saw.”

Micaela let out a soft gasp. “Adam, how much did you see?”

“We’ll talk later, Micaela.” Adam called to the men. “We know where he is. Grab the two-ways and the rifles.”

They raced in the direction of Joshua’s Cave. No questions.

Her head throbbed and her stomach churned. Years before, after the doctors had eliminated a possible brain tumor, they told her the auras, the headaches, the nausea were the result of migraines, but she knew better. Micaela crawled off the step, threw up into Una’s azaleas, and then passed out. When she opened her eyes, Chief Deerfield and Peggy stood over her. Tears ran down Peggy’s face.

“They radioed. They found him, Micaela, just where you said. They’re bringing him down now.”

Chief Deerfield helped Micaela stand up. Her head still pounded and her legs were rubber. He handed her a piece of willow bark. “You remember what to do with this, White Crow.”

When they were seven, Reece had begged his grandfather to make Micaela a member of the tribe and give her a Pokanoket name. Her parents and Una had been at the ceremony.

“Is Reece all right?” She chewed on the bark. The pain started to recede.

“He will be. We will take him to the enclave and help him through this time.”

Micaela’s first inclination was to insist Reece be airlifted to New York; she had a friend who would arrange a police escort. Micaela would call in favors from anyone necessary to ensure Reece’s survival. But she had grown up with the Nation and knew better, they had their own resources.

She watched as the enclave’s EMS vehicle pulled closer. Paramedics in scrubs climbed out accompanied by the aged shaman of the Pokanoket. “If you need anything, Chief Deerfield, Peggy, please tell me.”

Peggy’s eyes were locked on the path to the mountain. She didn’t answer. But knowing now how much Reece loved Peggy and how she returned that love, Micaela didn’t mind.

Chief Deerfield took her hand and walked with her and Peggy to the edge of the forest to wait. “I know what this has cost you, White Crow. We thank you for what you have done for Reece and Peggy… and for Adam.”

“I didn’t want Adam to blame himself, I know how that works.”

“Adam has a destiny and you have helped him on his path.”

Could she get off this path? For now, she would wait in the darkness with the others for Reece to come home.

  

The search team crashed back through the underbrush with a makeshift stretcher holding Reece. Paramedics met them; one grabbed Reece’s arm and, barely breaking stride, started an IV line. They eased Reece onto a gurney and slid an oxygen mask slid over his nose and mouth. The shaman stepped up with Adam as Peggy stood on the other side of Reece and brushed his hair back from his face. When she took her hands away they were smeared with his blood. The shaman began a chant. Micaela stood silent as Adam mirrored the shaman’s motions and words. When they had finished, Peggy bent over and lifted Reece’s oxygen mask so he could speak. She whispered back and laid a kiss on his cheek, then called Micaela over to his side. Reece’s face was gray; his brown eyes had a scary milky film.

“Hey Reece, long time, no see.” Micaela felt the tears pool in the corners of her eyes.

“You were there.” He attempted a smile.

“You’ll be all right. It will be just like before.”

“I’m going to be a Dad. I owe you, if you hadn’t told me….” His eyelids sagged and then shut.

Micaela eyes rose to meet Adam’s. “Is he okay?”

“We gave him something so he could sleep and heal.”

“Any idea what attacked him?”

Anger flared in Adam’s eyes. “Yes, the warriors will deal with it.” He took Micaela’s hands; a tear trailed down his cheek. “Thanks for telling him about the baby. It probably saved his life.”

“When I came out of the vision, you knew, too.”

Adam looked to the old shaman before he answered. “I told you I understand more than you realize.”

Peggy and Adam climbed in the back of the ambulance while a stone-faced warrior escorted the shaman to a waiting Jeep. Micaela watched the motorcade pull away, and then went inside.

 She woke the next morning on the sofa; a quilt covered everything except her cold bare feet. Her grandmother must have taken her stockings off. Micaela swung her feet to the floor, ready to head upstairs for a shower. Her headache was gone, but her body ached with exhaustion. She rested her elbows on her knees and weighed the merits of standing. Brown, dried pine needles protruded from between her toes. Maybe someone had used the quilt for a picnic. She carried it out on the porch and shook it over the railing. No needles. She pressed it to her face. The quilt smelled of detergent and fabric softener.

Una fussed over her the rest of the weekend. She cooked Micaela’s favorite breakfast of Secret Recipe pancakes. They went to Lafferty’s on Saturday night for Shepherd’s Pie. Una insisted on a private booth and Lafferty made sure they weren’t disturbed. Micaela noticed the furtive glances and whispers but no one came near; a blessed change from years ago. Afterwards, they drank tea with a side of Paddy’s Irish by the hearth.

Adam called Sunday morning to tell them that Reece was hanging in. It would be a long road but they were optimistic. After lunch, Micaela sat on the front porch draped in a crocheted throw while Una sat beside her sipping tea. It had rained through the night and into the late morning. Tears of water dripped from the leaves that remained on half-stripped branches. Soon the ground would be covered in frost and then snow. And so began Samhain, the Druid winter when life retreated beneath the earth and darkness ruled.

“I should get on the road. I promised Parker we would meet for a late dinner.”

“You tell your young man I expect to see him for Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t want to hear either of you are too busy.” Una shifted in her Adirondack chair to face Micaela.

“He won’t be able to make it. He’s leaving in the morning for a new office complex project in Vancouver. It’s a great opportunity. He should make partner when he’s done.”

“How long will he be gone?” The furrows between Una’s brows deepened.

“It’s supposed to take several years. He’ll be back every couple of months.” The next part was going to be hard; she knew how much Una liked Parker. “We’ve agreed to take a step back in our relationship. Just friends and all.”

“The wheel turns.” Una nodded. “Are you all right with this arrangement, dear?”

“Parker is great guy, he’s smart, sweet. We’re good together. I suppose it should be enough.” Micaela twirled a multi-hued yarn tassel on the throw between her fingers. “Not everyone can have what Mom and Da had. Can they?”

“Your mother asked me the same question not long before she met your father. Will you be here for Thanksgiving?”

“I’ll do my best, but I was just assigned to a new financing deal, my first international assignment. I don’t know what my schedule will be yet.”

“You tell Brian Moran that Una Rourke wants her granddaughter here. He won’t argue.”

“It’s not entirely up to him. One of our major clients asked for me specifically and I don’t think they celebrate Thanksgiving in Ireland.”

“Ireland. Who would the client be?”

“Knowth Corporation. Judy will have a briefing file waiting for me tomorrow morning. I understand they’re headquartered north of Dublin.”

“Knowth Corporation. Interesting.”

“You’ve heard of them?”Micaela asked.

“They’ve been around for a long time. Would it be Byrne Connor, you’re dealing with?”

“Actually, my day-to-day contact will be a Liam Farrell. We are supposed to speak by video conference on Tuesday morning.”

“Of course.” Una nodded. “The Farrells have always worked for Knowth.”

Micaela knew her grandmother kept tabs on things back home. She didn’t realize it included major players in the financial community, especially ones who were as reclusive as Byrne Connor. “Is there anything else you can tell me, Una?”

“Nothing right now. Give my regards to Liam and Byrne.”

Available at Amazon for the Kindles, Barnes & Noble for the Nooks and soon at Smashqwords for most other eReaders (included iReaders)

Hurricanes and Writing in the Dark

                So Irene blew through the Northeast this past weekend leaving destruction in varying degrees in her wake.  We were fortunate and suffered very little property damage.  My thoughts and prayers go out to those less fortunate.  We did lose power for approximately thirty-six hours but we were prepared with a generator to hook up the refrigerator, one television to entertain others and an oxygen concentrator for my father.  My father normally lives on his own in a 55-and-up community about two miles from our house.  He has emphysema (50 years of smoking will do that to you) and requires oxygen supplementation. Prior to Irene’s arrival, we picked him up and brought him to our house in anticipation of the power outage. His development is still without power.

                On top of that, my daughter is preparing to move to the New York apartment that was the result of the hunt covered in a previous blog. There are boxes, furniture and goddess only knows what piled everywhere.

                Did I mention my father is hard of hearing and likes to turn up the volume so that the neighbors can listen along?

                Don’t get me wrong, I love my family and am grateful for the minimal impact Irene has had on us. But hurricanes, fathers and moving daughters can throw a routine into chaos.

                On the full night of the black-out, I sought out the solitude of my writing cave in the spare room we have on the second floor.  It was dark and there was no electricity so I lit three candles and surrounded my paper with them. For someone who writes about vampires and ancient Druids, it was the perfect ambience for working on the sequel to Dark Dealings.  The soft flicker of the candle flame was soothing and chased the stress into the shadows.

                The pieces are starting to fall into place for Book 2 (as yet untitled) and I have Christopher Vogler’s: The Writer’s Journey, Mythic Structure for Writers to thank. It is one of my touchstone works when I feel like my story arc is floundering. In his work, Vogler takes the Hero’s Journey, as well-described and analyzed by Joseph Campbell, and applies it to modern storytelling first in movies and then in the written word. It is not a formula approach to novel writing but a study of the common elements found in great and memorable stories since we first sat around the cave fire. It helps me focus on why my plot may feel dull and listless.

               

                Like my ancestors the bards of Ireland, I spent the night in a darkness broken only by the flickering tongues of flame. I thought about how to make my story better. I want a novel that will transport someone from their normal world, to take them on an adventure and give them a gift to bring back with them. And so I struggle and study and learn from other storytellers, from readers and from the flame.

                Come back this weekend to meet one of those storytellers, Steve Umstead, a fellow PubWriteGroup member. We learn from each other every day on our journey to be the best writers we can be.

                So the storm moves on and so do I until the next hurricane, earthquake or, dare I hope, flash of inspiration.  It is only the beginning of the season you know.

Hurricanes and Change

Thursday Thoughts: Hurricanes and Change

If you haven’t realized yet, I am a writer.  For meager evidence, check out the excerpts to your right. During the day I work in the financial industry, a place I have worked for most of my career.  I have also been a teacher and owned a gourmet shop. I am married and have two almost grown children. Most of this while living in New Jersey. Hey watch it, no Jersey jokes.  What does any of this have to do with hurricanes?

Hurricanes are forces of nature and are highly unpredictable.  Here on the East coast of the United States we are watching the progress of Hurricane Irene. This after much of the Northeast felt the effects of the strongest earthquake in 67 years. I know southern California readers, it would be a yawner for you, but what would you do if three feet of snow fell on LA? The path a hurricane takes can mean all the difference between a disaster, a hard rain of a shower. When you are in the path of a hurricane, you need to prepare and be ready to adapt.  Windows need to be boarded up; evacuation may be necessary. If evacuation is advised, go! Not following great advice from experts under any circumstances is an invitation to disaster.

There are lessons to be learned from the forces of nature.  Life is about change, sometimes it is gentle, like a soft spring rain and sometimes it is a hurricane. Either way, it is about preparation and adaptation.

My change is everywhere. If you’ve read my last two posts, my daughter is moving to New York City, a place I lived when I was the same age.  This is gentle change, by and large, as long as we ignore the moments of twenty-something angst.

I work in the banking industry. I won’t say for whom because. while I want blogger followers, I am not the complaint department.  Banking has undergone drastic change in the last few years and continues to change.

I am also a writer. It is no understatement to say that the publishing and bookselling industry is in flux.  Change is happening so fast that it is hard to discern clear trends and directions.  I know that there are many people who are certain of the future and are more than happy to tell you their position ---sometimes endlessly. I am not as certain.  I suspect, and I am ready to admit that I could be wrong, that the final industry model will be a hybrid.  Maybe it is the biology major with a fascination of evolutionary biology and anthropology speaking. Nature abhors vacuums and extremes. 

But what does one do in a period of change and uncertainty---prepare, adapt and persist.  My Irish grandmother always said “You do what you have to do.”  Read, talk to others, share ideas, find a support network (for writers I recommend the folks at #pubwrite on twitter or the PubWrite group page on facebook) but most of all plan a course of action and do not be afraid to alter your course if facts and circumstances change. Do not be caught by surprise whether it is a gentle spring rain or a hurricane. Take charge of change and take charge of your future.

Living in New York: The Next Generation

Flash forward MANY years from Living in New York: The First Generation.

                Last week my daughter and I went apartment hunting in Manhattan. She begins her PhD program at the end of the month.  While she could commute, at least for a few weeks. the demands of her program make a shorter commute from the Midtown East campus desirable.  Why Manhattan and not one of the other boroughs, you ask. Well beyond the late nights indentured to her PhD advisor (all worth it in the end), the commute from some of the better areas of the other boroughs would approach the travel time from home, and, most importantly, she is a twenty-something.

                Apartment hunting like everything else has gone on-line.  Back in the dark ages, where on-line meant hanging your laundry or a phone, you found an apartment by buying the right day or days local newspaper and scour the classifieds for the right place.

                Today, you go to various websites for brokers (fees involved of anywhere from 1-2 month rent) or you go to Craigslist.  Apparently you can find things other than “massage therapists” and serial killers on Craigslist.  You gather your prospective addresses, send emails to the listing contact, and hope for a reply.  Repeat hourly. This is not an obsessive-compulsive action, just real apartment hunting in the early 21^st century.

                My daughter and I felt that if we had 4 appointments lined up it promised to be a productive day.  So armed with appointments and smartphones set for Craigslist, we boarded the train for New York.

                Some things don’t change. Of our contacted listings, ¼ responded and set an appointment, ½ never responded at all (that’s a NO), and ¼ responded to say that the apartment listed less than 12 hours ago was already rented.

                Of the appointments we did set: 3 were already rented by the time we went to see them. Included was one where we took the subway to Chinatown, walked in the pouring rain to Hester and Mulberry in Little Italy to meet an agent who did not show. We took that as a "sorry already rented".  By the time we found a place where we could buy a $5 umbrella for $20, the purchase was moot; we were wringing out our shirts. We did have a delicious early dinner in Little Italy where we ran into a rental broker from early in the day.  He was moonlighting as a waiter in the restaurant.

                Let’s talk about the ones we did see: One 375 sq. ft. studio apartment was in a prime location in the low 70’s on Second Avenue. It was a third floor walk-up with an under-the-counter refrigerator (think dorm room) and a magnificent view of the Second Avenue Subway blast zone.  All for a mere $1450 per month.

                Another had a better kitchen that had a full size fridge and could accommodate a drop-leaf table.  The kitchen and the bathroom had windows that looked out on an air shaft.

                Then there was the one in the mid-90’s on the Eastside, The building had an elevator with patched walls (I thought I saw duct tape). We felt brave so we took the ride. The apartment was vacant and the landlord said to just go up and let ourselves in. I opened the door. The two of us stood in the doorway long enough to observe the mold and mildew on the walls with holes and the rust stains on all the kitchen appliances and the sink.  We closed the door and beat a hasty retreat.

                Our last apartment on the third day was an open house that started at 7pm. The apartment was on a great block in a great section of the Upper East Side. The Laundromat was a block away, a nearby church had a Farmers’ Market every Saturday and a Starbucks and D’Agostino’s supermarket were within two blocks.  No mafia clubs or smelly clam stands (see prior post to get the joke).  We arrived shortly before 7 and there was a couple waiting. The agent took us up an elevator that was well maintained. There were no funky smells; we were off to a good start.  He opened the door.

                We had found IT-the brass ring. A junior one-bedroom (about 400 sq. ft.), all new appliances, hardwood floors, two large closets. My daughter gave me the eyebrows, I returned the look as an agreement. We eyed the couple.  The woman pulled out a tape measure, he took the other end and they started taking dimensions.  I offered up a silent plea—“please don’t let their sofa fit.”

                The four of us, the representative of the landlord, and one of the tenants (the current occupants consisted of a husband, wife and two large dogs) stood around have a civil conversation. Then we moved out into the hall, without the tenant. The couple kept going while we stayed behind. A choir of angels burst into song. 

                We asked about the application process.  The rep gave us the paperwork and said he had to go downstairs to get the next group. Next group! My daughter and I parked ourselves on a stair and started writing. By the time he came back with the third group, we had completed the application and had a check written for the application fee.

                He accepted it and told us it was a first-come, first-serve basis for completed applications.  Completion required that we submit tax returns, bank information and paystubs. It’s like applying for a mortgage.

                We raced home and faxed the required information to him at 11:30 that night.

                She moves in Labor Day weekend.

Living in New York: The First Generation

                More years ago than I will confess to, I lived in Manhattan. My first apartment was a one and a half bedroom apartment over a greasy spoon “restaurant” in what is now even trendier SoHo.  Yes, I said one and a half bedrooms.  The “second” bedroom was the equivalent of a miniscule closet with a window. Realtors tell me that a closet and a window are the criteria for a bedroom. The room was about eight feet long and four feet wide.  It could fit a twin bed (cozy romance) and a three-quarter size dresser.  The half bedroom window opened onto the street that hosted the Saint Anthony’s Feast every summer.  The clam concession was right under the window.  I will never forget the smell of day-old clam trash on a hot summer morning. The sound of the restaurant owner with his hose spraying down the sidewalk and the grinding of the crusher at the back of the trash truck was a summer symphony.  It’s a wonder I can still eat linguini with clam sauce.

                Three of us shared the apartment with the plan of rotating the privilege of occupying the half bedroom.  The apartment did have some amazing features beyond its location.  There were hardwood floors throughout, an exposed brick wall with a WORKING fireplace and easy access to tar beach.  For those who don’t know what that is: it is the flat tar-covered roof of a building and is suitable for sun-bathing and cooking raw eggs without a fire.  I don’t remember how we found this apartment.  I was fortunate to have a pit-bull of a roommate who basically did all the legwork and called me to tell me where to be and when.  She was a full-time graduate student and I worked full-time so I appreciated her availability and tenacity.  Our first third roommate was a fashion design student and wannabe model, but that’s another story.

                There were also our weekly visitors. The owner of the greasy spoon was a conscientious restaurateur.  As he was closed every Monday, he would dutifully set off the roach bombs on Sunday night.  So each Sunday evening as the first of the roommates would arrive home and open the door, the legal tenant would be greeted by an undulating floor and skittering sink as all roaches from downstairs fled to our apartment to evade being gassed.  I suspect Steven Spielberg may have lived there once and used this vision in Indiana Jones with snakes as a fill-in.

                It did get better.  I later moved to a rent stabilized apartment around the corner.  It was very safe.  The Italian superintendent sat in the front ground floor window day after day watching.  I don’t think she  could do anything else as The Biggest Loser wasn’t even a gleam in Jillian Michael’s eye--she might still have been in Pampers, in fact.  Also across the street was a very “profitable” candy store that hadn’t sold a candy bar since the Eisenhower Administration and an Italian-American Social Club, with Honorary President and frequent visitor, John Gotti.

                So with this as my personal experience, I spent several days this week with my oldest daughter beginning her twenty-something adventure in NYC apartment hunting. This is a whole new adventure.

               

                To be continued…..